


Smoke

by Apetslife



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Dark, Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-03
Updated: 2012-02-03
Packaged: 2017-10-30 13:32:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/332268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apetslife/pseuds/Apetslife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angel and Xander, transparency and rage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smoke

The slip-slide-and-CATCH of fingers, light as feathers, light as air   
sometimes Xander thinks, so light he might be...invisible. Such a   
little thing, this lightness, and yet so essential. Hands in   
pockets, his own, other peoples', taking bits of their lives *bits of   
their souls* and anchoring his own into place, into this strange   
Hellmouth reality where everything tilts sideways and nothing works   
out right. Demons after him, hurting him, but really that's ok   
because it means he's HERE, they can see him, feel him, damage him,   
and he's not invisible at all. And then they notice him, his family,   
his sisters and father-librarian and why doesn't he have any male   
friends? Riley almost made it, almost, but got lost somewhere and   
Xander's hands were too light *slip-slide-like-smoke* to hold him.   
Trading insults with Spike and hadn't it been nice to have someone   
tied down and WATCHING him all the time? But Spike's eyes were   
filled with blond hair and hard fists and a soft wounded mouth now,   
and he didn't see Xander, didn't see him at all. The new apartment   
too big, too empty, too much space for Xander to get lost in, lost   
and never found again. No one there to watch him. Anya's eyes   
sliding past his face to someone else, someone he is NOT and will   
NEVER be and does not WANT to be and why can't she see him? 

Little pieces, then. A lucky rabbit's foot from Giles, a hairclip   
from Buffy *and so hard to get past the Slayer-senses, but slip-  
sliding vapor fingers and it was his* and Willow's Cross pen. An   
earring from Anya, backless, left in her pocket for safekeeping *not   
safe not* and his best prize, his most recent, Angel's ring. A tiny   
ring, old and silver, hearts and flowers twined. A trip to pick up   
some goblet, a coat left draped on Giles' chair and a slide and CATCH   
*because vampires could tell, could always tell if you moved near   
them* and now it was in his pocket, in Xander's, a piece of Angel   
that he could touch. Would always be able to touch, even after he   
finally became entirely intangible, undetectable, invisible. 

Not expecting the call, days later. 

"Xander?"

"Hey, Wills."

"How are you? I haven't seen you in a few days."

"You know me, just goin' with the flow. What's up?"

"You remember when Angel came, a few days ago?"

"Yeah, Deadboy's visits always leave a big impression. What, did he   
leave his soul here by accident?"

"Xanderrrr...."

"Sorry, sorry Willow. What's up?"

"Did you see a ring fall out of his pocket anywhere? He just called   
and he's FREAKING, told Buffy and Giles to search the house and the   
grass and, and everything, everywhere he was."

"A ring? What, is it another Gem of Amara or something? Sounds   
important." Heart beating faster why is Willow calling HIM oh god   
she knows Angel knows his secret his dirty little secret

"Noooo...I think it belonged to his sister or something. The one   
that named him, remember that story?"

"God, yes. Remind me never to tell Cordelia anything I ever do...I   
had NO idea she talked that much drunk. Slayage of the family, start   
eternity out right. Nah, I didn't see a ring. Did he check his car?"

"Of COURSE he checked his car. We can't find it anywhere, though.   
Do you remember anyplace else he went?"

"Yeah, Wills, you know how I stalk him when he's around. I'm just a   
big, vamp-sitting restraining order waiting to happen."

"OK, no need to get all sarcastic..."

"Sorry again. Bad day at the office. Hey, I'll look around, see if   
maybe it dropped somewhere near here."

"Thanks, Xander. Sorry to bug you, but Angel seemed so upset on the   
phone, and you know he's usually Mr. I Have No Emotions Thanks   
Anyway."

"Yeah, I know. I'll talk to you later, 'kay?"

"'Kay. Bye."

"Bye."

And he's not caught, but almost worse, because this is bad, a very   
bad thing he's done. He remembers now, the story of Catherine, the   
one that Angel feels the worst about after centuries of concentrated   
evil and pure demon rage. The little sister that thought he was an   
angel. The small body, neck snapped, and now he can imagine the   
demon taking the slender silver band as a trophy to gloat on, and the   
soul holding it after like a lifeline to heaven. This is the worst   
thing his fingers *like dust in sunshine, no weight, in-and-out so   
quickly* have ever taken, and he can feel his careful heart, his   
delicate rationalization, breaking.

His car is ready to go in minutes, he's changed from work clothes to   
something he thinks of as more LA: clean snug blue jeans and a tight-  
sleeved long-sleeved *no cloth to brush, no weight to catch* thermal   
shirt, and new boots. And he is on the road. Long ribbon of black,   
and it can't pass quickly enough. 

***************************

The empty hotel rang around the THUMP-THUMP-SKID-THUMP of his   
restless bootheels. It was daylight now, no way to go out and   
continue his search. Not that he really had anywhere left to look,   
but tearing the hotel and the garage and his car and the city apart   
at least made him feel like there might be SOME hope. He wondered if   
it would be worth it to take out one of those silly back-page ads in   
the neighborhood paper. The ones that always made him shake his head   
and pity the hopeless fool that thought someone would ever find their   
dog/locket/notebook/true-love-met-at-a-rave or that, if someone did,   
they'd bother to return it. *No. Can't quite do it yet. Maybe if   
Willow calls back with bad news.*

He couldn't believe that the little silver ring was disturbing him so   
badly. It was a thing, a trinket, something tying him to that   
humanity he was so busy shedding these days. A cool reminder,   
against his hand in his pocket, of the agony of the memories that had   
been haunting him for a hundred years. And when you've carted   
something around for centuries, he supposed, it became even more   
valuable. Tied to you, somehow. Wrapped up in the things you'd done   
and the places you'd been. *Not that most of them were really worth   
remembering...*

THUMP-THUMP-TURN-THUMP Was the sun EVER going down? He was driving   
back to Sunnydale, that was it. Despite his frantic search here,   
he'd been pretty certain that the ring had been in his leather jacket   
when he'd been there, and gone afterwards. Maybe it had slipped out   
when he was clenching his hands in his pockets, facing Buffy and her   
painful beauty. Or when he'd jerked them out in an aborted reach for   
her when he'd scented Spike on her *and just who were you jealous of   
there, Angelus, hmmm?*. Or when he'd thrown his coat over that   
chair, furious with himself for rising to Xander's commonplace   
taunts, even more angry when he'd felt his lips twitch almost into a   
smile at the familiarity of it all. This. Was. Not. For. Him. These   
people were not his, their troubles not his own, their joys not   
accesible to him. The Powers had wanted a warrior to battle evil on   
their behalf? Fine. But he was damned if he was going to be all   
sunshine-and-light about it, as they dragged him into one impossible   
situation after another. Fuck it. He'd do this his way or they   
could find another damn vampire to jerk around.

Was the sun EVER settin-*wait, is that someone at the door?   
Cordelia, back to remind him how much he sucked? Or...shit...news   
about Wesley...* He was at the door in two strides, yanking it open,   
staring into the startled brown eyes of

"Xander?" *What the-*

"Hey, Deadb- er, Angel." And that was definitely fear, he could   
smell it, and...guilt? What was going on here? "Um...can I come in?"

"I don't know. Are you here to toss more insults, or do you have   
some other goal in mind?" The boy looked good, he had to admit, even   
standing twitching on his *thankfully shaded* doorstep. He'd filled   
out recently, and the shirt showed strong arms and wide shoulders,   
and dipped low enough to reveal the clean knifeblade of a   
collarbone...Angel shook off the thoughts, and stepped back to allow   
him in. 

"Thanks. Well...I guess you're wondering why I'm here..." And   
Xander wasn't meeting his eyes, was, in fact, staring with remarkable   
concentration at the *apparently fascinating* marble floor of the   
lobby. *Come on, Xander, spill.* 

"I, well, I needed to talk to Cordelia...is she here?" He peered   
hopefully around Angel's shoulder. 

"No. Cordelia doesn't work here any more." Keep it short, simple,   
and keep staring at the boy until he caves.

Eyes, part horrified, part reluctantly amused, finally shot up to his   
face. 

"You FIRED CORDELIA? You're braver than I thought, Deadboy."

And there it was, that reluctant smile that wanted to break out so   
badly. But Angel was pretty sure stoic silence and continued staring   
would remain his best weapons here, so he just kept on. 

"Oh. Well, I guess, I suppose I should just go to her place, then.   
I really just came to see her. Er, can I use your bathroom first?" 

"Sure." *You're a terrible, terrible liar, Xander.* "Go ahead. And   
then you can tell me what's going on, before I pound you into my   
currently clean floor and you make a mess I'll be forced to clean up   
later." Xander jumped a foot, and looked at him, and those eyes held   
pure terror, now. He'd known he was growling, but that reaction   
seemed a little extreme. But the boy had settled back *was that a   
deep breath he took?* and moving to walk by him *WAY too close, what   
the hell?-* and *WHY IS HIS HAND IN MY POCKET?*

*******************************************

Last tatters of courage gone at the door, and Xander's completely   
adrift. Staring at the floor, at the wall, anything but the vampire   
currently drilling holes in him with his eyes *He SEES me, Angel SEES   
me* but those eyes are so cold. Cold in a hard face, over a still   
body dressed all in that tailored, formfitting black. He shivers a   
little, asks about Cordelia, is shocked out of his drifting by the   
news that she's been fired. There goes his excuse, then...can't   
stand around chatting about old times when the only old time present   
is someone you've sent to Hell *Please don't let him remember that   
right now* and taken from and insulted. Must get this done, get it   
done getitdonegetitdone so he can run back outside, back to his car,   
back to his life, no piece of Angel to hold...asks about the   
bathroom, is casually threatened, and *he knows* but those eyes are   
merely empty, not angry. Not anything. 

Sooo...brush by, then, and slide...so careful now, so cautious with   
those supernatural senses all trained on him, but Angel will think   
the ring was never lost, that it was simply overlooked, that it was   
in these pants all along. Careful reach, *slip-slide-like-air* but   
vampires can feel air. He had forgotten that.

His wrist is caught in iron-cold fingers, wrenched around and yanked,   
and his gasp of pain is lost in the growl. 

"What are you DOING, boy?" And that sounds very little like Angel,   
and very much like what he remembers of Angelus, but he won't think   
of that now, can't...

"I-I-I-I..." No words coming, no matter how hard he tries.

"Spit it out, or you lose this arm." And he means it, Xander can   
tell. No mercy here.

"I couldn't help it, just wanted to see if those pants were really   
cashmere." *And is that the stupidest, or only second-stupidest,   
thing you could possibly have said?*

Growl again and YANK. Screaming now, with his head bent down almost   
to the floor, because his arm feels like it's about to leave the   
socket, and he wonders dreamily if Angel has neighbors, if he can be   
rescued, if he wants to be. Because Angel is seeing him, Angel is   
hurting him, and that means he can touch him...not intangible yet.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were copping a feel. But   
you'd never do THAT, would you, Xander? Not the good little suburban   
Sunnydale boy. So WHAT. IS. GOING. ON."

*Thank you, Angel, for giving me the most humiliating out   
possible.* "I'm sorry...didn't mean to insult you, but I've   
been...wanting to touch you for so long..." Gasped out against teeth   
grit not against pain, but against the shame. He'd never thought of   
Angel that way, never, and here he is, rejected before he could even   
make his fake pass...it's oddly amusing, actually.

And Angel's letting go of him *Shock? Probably* and he's falling   
down on his face with the release of pressure. And his hand opens to   
break his fall, and there is the tiny, shiny tinkle of metal-on-  
stone, a damning sound, as the ring rolls across the floor, spins   
twice around, and settles with a final 'CLINK' into the awful silence.

"Where did you get that?" Simple question, quiet voice. And   
Xander's never been so scared. 

"I found it." Terrified whisper-squeak of his own voice.

"And tried to slip it back into my pocket? No. Try again, and do   
better."

"I....I took it." He can feel his arms shaking, as they brace him,   
keeping his face from the floor. His knees aching against the   
marble. Angel standing behind him, utterly still.

"Ah." Still no movement, no further words, so he pushes up, ready to   
stand and face...whatever, but-there's a COLD hard hand on the back   
of his neck, holding him down and still, and he can feel the rage in   
it, and freezes.

"Stealing is wrong, Xander. Hasn't anyone ever taught you that?   
No? Well, perhaps I'll try to make it clear to you." And that silk-  
smooth-cold voice unfreezes him and he bucks back against the hand,   
tries to get his feet under him, because this is going so BADLY and   
he needs to stand up. But the hand is like iron, and he moves barely   
an inch, and whimpers. Can't believe that small animal sound is   
coming from his mouth.

"Why, Xander, I don't understand. You've been 'wanting to touch me   
for so long.' You don't want to add LYING to your current list of   
sins, DO you?" A frantic shake of his head, not denial, just a need   
to explain, and he opens his mouth, but there's another hand   
there. "No, I don't think I want to hear about it. I think it's   
really best that you SHUT. UP. NOW." And the small part of his brain   
that, so far back in time, used to be a small prey animal agrees that   
yes, that is probably best.

****************************

The rage and the demon were controlling him now, and Angel just   
couldn't bring himself to care. This was the person who had sent him   
to hell. This was the person who had never, ever had a kind word for   
him, who had always talked to him with a stake ready-to-hand, who had   
now STOLEN from him one of his most precious possessions. Perhaps it   
was his recent focus on vengeance instead of right. Perhaps it was   
nights and days and decades of agony and atonement for actions that   
the demon, not the soul, had perpetrated in his body. But right now,   
all his parts were in accord, and they demanded that this boy pay.   
Pay for the screaming pain of five hundred years of torment, for the   
distrust, for the theft, for the humanity he'd forced in with the   
loss of the ring. 

But rape? No, not really. That was both too much and too little   
punishment, and while the demon craved the violence, both Angelus and   
the soul *yes, a little insane now, but whose fault was that?*   
scoffed at the inelegance of it all. No, this would be something far   
better.

He gentled his voice, allowed the hand still at the nape of that   
bowed neck to run down the broad back.

"Xander..." Felt the shiver and exulted in it. Fear now, yes, but   
desire soon.

"Xander, don't you think you owe me something?" Softened his voice   
still further. "I'm not so much angry, as...disappointed. I can't   
believe you would do such a thing. You can't deny you need to make   
this up to me somehow..." Wide brown eyes swiveled to stare at him,   
where he was crouched beside the boy. Disbelief, and guilt...yes,   
this was right on track. 

"Here, I'll show you." And with a casual grab-and-tug, he had Xander   
sprawled on his back, stiffening now as the shock of what he was   
saying set in. He settled his body over the boy's, letting his   
weight ride out the struggle and push-shove-NO! that he'd been   
expecting, until the other man subsided, shaking. Took that   
opportunity to drop his mouth to Xander's face. The cheek first,   
then feathering over eyelids, shut tight in denial. Brushing, so   
lightly, back-and-forth, back-and-forth, over tensed-shut lips. The   
brown eyes were open now, begging, please-don't-do-this, and he just   
smiled, and brought one hand up to pinch the jaw-nerve, THERE, and   
thrust his tongue into a mouth opened to gasp. Plundered it with his   
own, diving deep into the wet heat *I'd forgotten how HOT mortals   
are* and the demon giggled *I hadn't*, teasing Xander's out to play.   
And yes, there it was, a tentative stroke against his lips, and he   
purred his approval. Activity down below, too. He could feel Xander   
hardening against the juncture of his thighs, where they were pressed   
together, and rocked his own length once, twice against it. Sucked   
in the moan that came then, and hid his satisfaction well. 

*************************

*This can't be happening can't be happening nonononono* and Xander   
knows he's not thinking straight, not thinking well at all, but   
there's all this heat and hardness pressed against him, and a cool   
tongue playing with his own, and he can't help it. Can't help   
reacting to the touch, the notice, the promise of attention and   
warmth. *Maybe he has been wanting this, maybe...* And Angel's   
hands are sliding under his shirt, lifting it over his head, and he   
finds himself raising his arms obediently. Angel's shirt gone too   
*soft black cotton, would have felt nice* but the smooth, chilly skin   
rubbing against him is probably nicer. That talented mouth running   
down his neck, sucking on the small ridge of his collarbone, tongue   
lapping at the hollow beneath. Long fingers pulling at his nipples,   
and his hands finally find their way from the floor, to curve around   
broad shoulders, slide up the strong column of neck and tangle in   
short, spiky brown hair. This feels...wonderful. Beyond anything.   
He is HERE, he is under Angel, who is making him feel things...

Angel's holding himself up on his forearms, now, as one hand reaches   
down to pull at the button on his jeans. Xander feels a brief rush   
of panic returning, bucks up once, groans back down as his cock *is   
all the blood in my body there?* makes hard contact with a muscled   
thigh. His jeans being stripped down, now, and he can feel the hard,   
cold stone under his hips and shoulderblades for the first time, as   
Angel pulls at his own belt. *Oh shit. This is wrong, this is   
wrongest...* he rolls to the side, scrambles to his knees, only to   
have his hands yanked out from under him again and end up on his face.

"None of that, now, Xander. We were doing so well..." That voice is   
still velvet over iron, still soft and cajoling, no hint of passion,   
and Xander feels a strange shudder pass through him. Shouldn't Angel   
be hot, impatient- But his mind goes screaming away again when he   
feels a naked *all naked, all skin* body lower itself onto his own,   
and that mouth is on his back, now, and hands rubbing up and down his   
sides and down to his flanks, weight shifting, and one finger at the   
base of his spine, tracing small circles. Drifting down to stroke   
the cleft in his buttocks, not pushing in, just gliding along the   
crease. And back to the circles, when he tenses. Over and over, and   
a mouth on his neck, licking and sucking, until he's moaning and   
spreading his legs and thrusting against the floor, begging for more,   
more anything. Mindless.

*************************

*This is so easy, it's hardly worth the effort* Angel frowned   
slightly down at the sweat-slick body writhing under his hand and his   
mouth. *A bit of lifelong denial, there, Xander? I'd better get on   
with it then.* He raised one finger to his mouth, sucked it slick,   
and probed gently at the little hole. This was the tricky   
part...getting past that first resistance. After this he was home   
free. And there it was, the tensing muscles, body bowing up off the   
floor, babbled denials. But he pushed in anyway, ruthless past the   
first barrier, crooked that finger and found the sweet spot. And   
Xander's body went completely limp, and the babbling was not denial,   
now. He stroked again, felt the shudder of pleasure, and slid   
another finger in. Ignored the shout of pain, and went back to that   
gland, fingers thrusting slowly. Stretching.

*Lube. Hmm. Wasn't thinking so far ahead. I suppose my blood will   
have to do.* A fang in his wrist was all it took, and his blood was   
flowing, in his hand, coating his cock. *Still hard. He IS rather   
pretty, I suppose.* Fingers still pushing in and in, he slid around   
between the boy's sprawled legs. Nudged the thighs further apart   
with his own. Pulled his hand away, slowly, and smiled toothily at   
the mewl of protest from below. Angel slid his hands around to cup   
hipbones, pulled back and up, so gently. Couldn't have second   
thoughts intruding, now. And Xander was on his knees, head hanging   
between his arms, still quivering. Pushing back a little with his   
hips, unconsiously. Angel met one of those pushes with his own,   
sliding in just a bit, catching the jerk away with arms holding   
Xander's hips hard. Pulling him back, screwing his own hips a   
little, pushing in. Smiling, still, at the small broken sounds the   
boy was making. And...there. One long slide, past the final   
resistance, and he was in. Holding a jerking, shuddering, hot body   
in his arms, and it felt GOOD. He couldn't remember why he'd been   
denying himself this for so long. Thrusting, long and sure, careful   
not to touch the penis whose tip brushed, hard and wet, against his   
arm where it was still holding Xander's hips. Faster now, harder,   
the friction intense and hot and so amazing, and he could hear the   
slapping of flesh on flesh, that sweet sound, and finally, finally,   
he came...

*************************************

Xander's brain had been lost somewhere along the way, but he's   
conscious enough to know that this, this is sublime. He has taken   
Angel into his body, and it feels good, feels RIGHT, touching inside   
and out, skin on skin on skin, and every thrust sparks fireworks   
behind his eyes, and nothing is sliding away, he's here, solidly,   
knees aching and back aching, cock throbbing and so hard, and he   
finds himself thinking foolish thoughts like *what will we talk about   
tomorrow?* He's grinning, he can feel it, and pushing back into   
Angel, wanting more. Can sense the thighs tensing behind his own,   
feel the arms almost crushing him, hear Angel howling as cool wetness   
floods him. Collapses down as weight hits him from behind, and is   
still. For just a moment. The body rolls off of him, and he rolls   
too, onto his back, still grinning, for surely it's his turn now?

There's something wrong. Angel's not smiling at him, kissing him,   
reaching for his erection to make him come. He's standing, zipping   
pants already on, staring at him with so-cold eyes and a little   
smile, and Xander can feel it, feel the shaking start, feel the blood   
freezing in him as he realizes Angel isn't even really looking at   
him. Can't see him at all.

"You can go now." Voice casual as he turns away.

"But...wait..."

"What? You want me to PAY you? This was nice enough, boy, and I   
suppose I'll call it even. Here..." and he grabs a few small bills   
out of his pocket, tosses them down beside Xander's frozen   
body, "...gas money. Wouldn't want you thinking you'd wasted the   
trip." Tall figure walking away, all in black again. "Oh, and   
Xander? Take the ring. I don't want it."

And Xander can feel it. *Slip-slide-like-air, like smoke, like a   
cloud in dry weather...* He is vanishing, dissipating, gone. Never   
to be found again.


End file.
